Gemotions

Mark shuffled into the kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath his bare feet. He hadn't bothered to shave, and the stubble scratched at his jaw. The fluorescent lights of the kitchen buzzed, a high-pitched whine that grated on his nerves. The news had been circulating all morning: his diary was public. He hadn't wanted to even look.

He poured a cup of coffee, the aroma doing nothing to rouse him. The simple act of lifting the mug felt like a monumental task. He glanced at the overflowing sink, at the stack of unread mail. He wanted to do nothing, simply to disappear. He felt the familiar pull of a deep, inner stillness.